come out in the open; come clean upon my face. i have nothing to offer you. i have been hiding, been invisible for fate.
all i have on me is, the over-whelming alone-ness and a little disgrace.
a little story i finished writing , a little story that spoke of me; with your profound essence, a little wary of your being. wont you sing me the lullaby, oh! sing to me please; sing to me as i drift, away; away into sleep.
You have changed houses , schools , cities towns villages and in time lost 'friends ' , 'almost friends ' (?) All of this done so many times so that the entire cycle of making friends and holding onto them tires you out.
So you stop trying at all . Nothing feels permanent as nothing is permanent.
The cities you once called 'your own ' have now changed beyond recognition . What is home after all ?
An amalgamation of all the small towns you grew up in? Your subconscious mind combines them all together to form one giant mega-city which is an ever growing weed ridden farmland because you haven't settled any where yet; you haven't put in roots.
What is a home city ?
A place where you have worked/are working in . A place where you may stay in as long as works keeps you and then you cut ties and are kicked out.
Which is your home city ? A place where your parents live ? The place you called home once and you spent the better part of your student life in…
गर तुझे ये लगे के तू ज़िंदा है, तो तू है ज़िंदा।
गर ये तेरा सवाल है, तो तू है नही।मुझसे न पूछ तू तेरी तलाश में कहाँ भटके।
तेरे मंज़िल का रास्ता तेरी परिस्थिति के बाध्य नहीं।तू ढूँढ उस आवाज़ को, जो कहे तुझे है अब चलना।
इन पहाड़ों में नहीं, तुझे अपने अन्तः मन में है उसे खोजना।तू निकल अब वहाँ जहाँ जाने की किसी को इजाज़त नहीं।
तू लौट के आ वहां से जिसके बगैर तेरी कोई पहचान नहीं।